


Springtime for Wolves

by corullance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Dildos, Dubious Consent, M/M, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/pseuds/corullance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The birds were singing. The flowers were beginning to bloom. The air was giving way to a fresh, clean scent, ripe with the sunny dew of the morning. In short, spring was in the air and Peter was miserable.</p>
<p>Peter goes through yet another heat alone. Well, for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Springtime for Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheVoiceofWrath (meet_your_fate)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_your_fate/gifts).



> Sorry I am SO LATE. This fic is for the petopher secret santa exchange of 2014.

The birds were singing. The flowers were beginning to bloom. The air was giving way to a fresh, clean scent, ripe with the sunny dew of the morning.

 

In short, spring was in the air and Peter was miserable.

 

Every year. Every bloody year it was the same. Winter passed into spring and Peter was passed into the torment of an unfulfilled heat. It was absolutely unfair, to begin with. Derek didn’t have to go through heats. Not every wolf did. The genetics seemed completely random (and Peter chose to believe it was random genetics and not some quirk of character or signal to indicate a lack of power).

 

It was almost time. He could feel it. He woke to sweaty sheets and couldn’t get cool for the rest of the day. He couldn’t concentrate properly. Everything smelled sweeter than it should. No, it wouldn’t be long now.

 

Preparations were simple, but humiliating. Buying seven bottles of lube at a time just doesn’t send the sort of message he wants getting around. Anywhere. Ever.

 

It’s better than the alternative though (chafing, ugh), so Peter suffers the indignity with as much pride as possible before driving up to the cabin a few days early to wait things out. Better to leave early than to go into heat near people. Who knows what would happen then? He’d probably end up jumping the nearest person who smelled attractive.

 

The cabin is two hours out into the middle of nowhere wilderness. It’s quiet and lonely and Peter hates it. He gets so bored without places to go and people to meet and games to play. It’s not pleasant. It’s not a vacation. It’s biology punishing him. Still, what else can he do? He certainly doesn’t have anyone he trusts enough to spend his heats with. Derek doesn’t even know where he is. He’s not sure if Derek’s even ever noticed Peter’s conspicuous absence during the first week or so of spring.

 

Peter isn’t going to bring it up to ask though.

 

He sets his things up, stocks the kitchen and pantry and settles in to wait.

 

 

Everything is hot and throbbing and he doesn't even care anymore about how annoying it is and how inconvenient and how humiliating because everything feels so _good_ right now. He feels so hot. He needs something. He needs more. It _aches_.

 

Peter dizzily glances over at the bedside table and there's a glass of water. He reaches over, clumsy and languid, and grips the glass carefully before pouring the cool liquid all over his shirt. He sighs in relief as the water cools him, but it doesn't last. Nothing lasts when he's like this. He needs _something_. He squirms kicking the sheets off with a groan of frustration. His shirt is only clinging to him now, annoying and itchy. He wrestles it off.

 

He always forgets. He knows there's a way to make himself better. He knows there is a way to make the heat and the aching stop, but he can't remember. All he knows is _need_.

 

It is a quiet sound, the front door of the downstairs hall opening and Peter doesn't hear it. He didn't hear the truck pulling up to the cabin either. He doesn't hear the wary footsteps approaching the bedroom.

 

The scent hits him first and it smells like relief and he lets out a sigh that's more of a whimper. There's someone, a male and he smells so goooood, not an alpha, but he smells strong and confident and...familiar? Dangerous? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter he thinks as he looks up, mouth falling open to let out little pants and let in more of that delicious scent. He just _needs_. He tastes the air.

 

The familiar man says something. Says a word. He knows vaguely that the word means him. It's--it's his name.

 

Peter closes his eyes and sways, sitting up in the bed. The fog is lifting, only a little. Gunpowder. Wolfsbane. He breathes in. There is some meaning in this. Something he knows.

 

"Chrss" he slurs through clumsy lips too quiet for the man to hear, slumping limp back onto the bed, writhing slowly, clutching at the pillows and pushing out with his feet, stretching his neck to show his throat.

 

This is all wrong. He's not supposed to be here. No one is supposed to be here. And he smells _so good_ but Chris won't help him.

 

He opens his eyes again and Chris is closer. He looks worried. He shouldn't. Peter is the one who should be worried. He needs. He needs so badly and Chris won't help him. But Chris is here. Why else would he be here?

 

Chris is saying his name again. One step closer and every step bringing them closer is painful because it gives Peter hope. But Chris won't help him. He knows.

 

He can't help himself either. He reaches out. "Please?" It's one of the few words he can remember.

 

Chris stands above him now, but he can’t even force himself to roll over and present like he wants to. This one is strong, he can tell. He'd be a good mate. He'd be good. Peter writhes at the thought, but Chris isn't touching him. He's talking into something that Peter distantly knows is a phone, but all that matters is that Chris isn't touching him.

 

But his voice. His _voice_. He isn't talking to Peter, but Peter can practically feel it caressing him, vibrating, deep and gravelly. He throws his head back and just listens, lets it wash over him.

 

"You can't be serious. In _heat_? That's--that doesn't make any sense. He's not even--!"

 

"Fine. _Fine_."

 

Chris turns his attention back to Peter, his eyes bright and his expression dark and Peter licks his lips. "Please." He tries again.

 

Chris stares for another moment. Then he shakes his head and turns to go and Peter can't stop him. He's too weak, too hot.

 

"Please." He whimpers. " _Chris_."

 

Chris stops suddenly, turns. He isn't leaving. He's hesitating.

 

Peter tries again voice ragged and desperate. "Chris. Argent, _please_."

 

Chris faces him and approaches and Peter shudders at his focused gaze. Chris is coming back. He's going to help Peter.

 

"You know who I am?" Chris presses. "You're aware?"

 

"Know you." Peter slurs. "Want you. Please." He stretches with a whine, "'s just heat."

 

Chris considers. Peter can practically _see_ the thoughts passing behind his eyes. He stays quiet. More convincing will just make him look desperate. And he is. He's desperate, but Chris wouldn't like that. Chris. Chris Argent. Saint Chris. Always doing the right thing.

 

Chris reaches down and Peter trembles. His lips part but he holds the words in. Please. Please pleasepleaseplease.

 

Hands. Touching. Stroking down his jaw and over his neck and he's throwing his head back, submitting. The hand trails down, lower, dragging over sweat slick skin to rest on his vulnerable belly.

 

"Don't tease." Peter manages to whisper.

 

Chris is considering again. Thinking. Always thinking. Not enough touching. The heat is building again. It's blinding.

 

Chris decides.

 

He has both hands on Peter's hips before Peter can let out a sob of relief. He pulls Peter to the edge of the bed with a harsh tug. Peter's chest tightens in giddy joy.

 

Chris attacks the buttons and zippers of his pants and pulls them off with quick, efficient movements. Peter is putty in his hands. He nearly giggles. Chris is touching him. Chris is going to continue touching him. He's grinning, he knows.

 

"Turn over." Chris growls as he starts unzipping his jeans and Peter obeys before he realizes just who he's obeying, even though he'd kind of been enjoying the show. He positions himself in the middle of the bed, head resting on folded arms, legs spread. Loose and pliant as Chris steps out of his jeans and turns to look at Peter. The man is gorgeous. Peter had known he would be, but now it's right there in front of him and he _wants_ and judging by the proud erection standing upright nestled in a bed of tight blonde curls he knows that Chris wants too. He can't help but arch his back, pushing his ass up, just to make sure Chris knows what's on offer.

 

"Lube." Chris says.

 

Peter's eyes flick to the bed table and Chris strides over before Peter can utter a word, grabbing the whole bottle and bringing it to the bed taking up a position behind Peter.

 

It's almost too fast, no build-up, but Peter can't say he mourns the loss of foreplay as a slick finger slides into his welcoming hole with no preamble. It's such a sweet relief Peter practically melts, sliding his legs wider with a sigh. His cock starts to drip beneath him, beads of pre-cum gathering in evidence to his pleasure.

 

The heat is building higher even than before as Chris adds a second finger, stretching Peter and it's even better, but it's still not enough, not nearly enough. Peter fists the sheets and bites his lip hard. He's never had a heat partner. He thought it would be easier, but it's just as maddening.

 

"Come on." He murmurs, voice breaking, against the sheets. "Need it now."

 

“Quiet.” Chris growls as he adds a third finger, stretching carefully, but slowly. Too slowly. Peter whimpers.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you because you have no patience.” He says and Peter feels mostly frustration but maybe a hint of sweet surprise at the consideration.

 

The three fingers are thrusting now and it’s an easy slick slide and it’s almost relief, but it’s not. He needs more. He _needs_.

 

“Tell me what you need, Peter.” Chris says, voice dark and low, and Peter’s thoughts must be spilling out of his mouth out loud. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have time for embarrassment.

 

“I need you. Need you. Fuck me, please.” Peter whimpers arching, presenting to his heat mate. “Need you. Inside. Please.”

 

Chris doesn’t reply. He just puts his hands on Peter’s hips and pulls him back so that Chris’ cock is resting heavy atop Peter’s ass. Peter quivers in anticipation, sprawled on his belly, pliant and open, the only things holding him up are Chris’ hands and friction.

 

“Say my name.” Chris insists thrusting lightly against the werewolf, teasing and cruel.

 

“Chris! Please!” Peter slurs, wriggling under the hunter, enticing, trying to—

 

He freezes, trembling and tense as the head of Chris’ cock brushes against his entrance, slick and hot and hard and pushes in gently, slowly, like the most agonizing euphoria. Peter’s eyes roll up and his legs twitch.

 

He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known it would be like this. All this time, avoiding his heats. All this time, jealous of those who didn’t have to suffer the indignity. Chris sinks deeper inside and Peter chokes on pleasure. He wouldn’t give this up for all the power of the nemeton.

 

Chris slides a hand from his hip to his middle back, up his spine and into his hair, twining there through the sweaty strands, leaning down over Peter to cover him. A kiss is pressed, unexpected and small, just under his ear and jaw.

 

Then Chris moves, like he always does, firm and efficient and almost brutal but so, so perfect and it doesn’t even _matter_ because all Peter can think is yes yes yesyesyes. He’s held up his end of the bargain. He’s enticed a mate. Now it’s their turn and he can relax and stop trying and just _take it_.

 

“Is this what you needed, Peter?” Chris purrs into his ear and that voice is so much better breathless with passion and deep with heat. His hips snapping into Peter fast and hard and Peter pants out what might be words, but mostly are just jumbled moans.

 

“You needed someone to come pin you down, make you give up, make you submit.” Chris pushes harder, hand reaching around Peter’s waist to stroke his hard, weeping cock and Peter nearly screams at the sensation.

 

“Fuck, yes.” Peter manages to squeeze out coherently.

 

Chris laughs but it’s not a cruel laugh. His grip on Peter tightens and he speeds up his pace, hand still slippery with lube.

 

“Always imagined you just like this.” That voice husky in his ear again. “On your knees and begging. So desperate. So pliant. It feels good to give in, doesn’t it, Peter?”

 

Peter grips the sheets white-knuckled and he can’t decide whether to shove back up into the cock pounding away, filling him so good or the hand stroking him so good. He feels like he might shake apart and he bites his lip hard, tasting blood.

 

“Go on, Peter.” Chris encourages him, swirling a slick finger around the head of his cock. “I want to hear you. I’m gonna make you _sing_.”

 

And he does, moaning his pleasure out in each breath, voice rising, teeth clenching and it’s perfect. It’s one singular moment of perfect pleasure held frozen in time and then Peter crashes, incoherent and sloppy, back to reality.

 

Both Chris’ hands are back on his hips, sliding with Peter’s come and lube and sweat and it’s almost like Peter didn’t come at all. He still needs. He still needs to be filled.

 

He whines and turns his hips up into the fucking, squeezing down on the hard length and it’s Chris’ turn to choke on his pleasure.

 

“Fuck, Peter.” He shoves Peter down, blanketing his body, arms wrapping around Peter holding him close and tight, shoving inside so deep and insistent and empties himself and finally, _finally_ , Peter feels full.

 

And lucid.

 

It’s not his favorite feeling.

 

Chris lies panting atop him, breath hot and wet at Peter’s neck and Peter tries to gather his thoughts, but it’s still hard to concentrate when he can still feel Chris’ cock twitching inside him.

 

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret it. He can’t imagine ever regretting a feeling like that. Damn. This is the clearest headed he’s been in heat, _ever_. It must have something to do with having a partner that’s more that silicon.

 

Beyond that, he can’t help but ask what the hell business Chris Argent has being here and why he agreed to stay in the first place.

 

Chris pulls out slowly, careful and considerate again. Peter would say gentle, but that’s not it.

 

Chris rolls to his side next to him and Peter postpones facing him until he can figure out something to say. He can’t really think of anything though. He turns his head to give Chris a half-hearted glare, but says nothing.

 

Chris just gives him a raised eyebrow and says “That good, huh?”

 

With an opening like that Peter goes for nonchalance, “You have _no idea_.” He says and he’s being truthful.

 

“So, heat, huh?” Chris says, obviously expecting elucidation.

 

Peter frowns and huffs, “Biology. What can I say?”

 

Chris smirk twists into a frown. “You…can’t get pregnant can you?”

 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Do I look like I have a uterus?”

 

Chris shrugs. “Just checking.” He stretches and Peter’s mouth starts to water again. The heat is growing, starting with a tingling in his belly.

 

“Well,” Chris says leaning up to sit. “now that you have that out of your system I suppose I should get going.”

 

Peter jerks up onto his elbows in alarm. No, no he can’t leave. He can’t just give Peter that amazing feeling once and then deny it to him. It’s too cruel. Even Chris wouldn’t do that.

 

“What?” Chris asks, alarmed by Peter’s reaction.

 

“You wouldn’t—“ Peter chokes and _damn_ his heat for making his so emotional. “You can’t just leave now.”

 

“What, do you want to cuddle or something?” Chris asks sardonically, rising and stepping away from the bed.

 

Peter narrows his eyes. It seems the hunter didn’t know what he was getting himself into. “Heat lasts a week, as I’m sure Derek told you.” Peter says pointedly.

 

“Even if…” Chris gestures between them, for some reason shy to put it into words.

 

“Yes, even if.” Peter replies, stretching languidly and rising to his knees. “Which means if you have any previous engagements for the week, you’d best cancel them.”

 

“Oh, really.” Chris says, voice darkening “And what makes you think I’ll stay now that I’ve gotten what I wanted.”

 

Peter flushes and suppresses a shudder at the thought of being left alone for the rest of his heat. The need is still there, twisting around his guts. Chris _can’t_ leave. He’s made claim. He _has_ to follow through. He growls, “I won’t _let_ you leave.”

 

Chris lunges back onto the bed pinning Peter’s wrists to the bed and straddling him, leaving the werewolf breathless.

 

“You couldn’t make anyone do anything right now.” Chris growls into his ear. “Not like this, all weak and riled and _helpless_.”

 

Peter kicks out, struggling, but Chris is right. The heat makes him weak and easily subdued for just this reason. “I am not.” He denies anyway.

 

“Really?” Chris asks smirking down at him and pressing his wrists deeper into the mattress. “So you’re not going to go back to being a whimpering, horny mess when I leave? You’re not going to beg for someone, anyone to fill your greedy hole, even though you know nobody can hear you?”

 

Peter’s pupils blow wide and the heat rises in him again. His lips part as he tries to take in enough air, but still, he’s breathless. He tilts his head back giving his neck to his heat mate.

 

“Please. Please.” Peter whimpers arching up trying to get contact.

 

“Calm down, Peter.” Chris says, voice even and calming, no longer that husky taunting, “I won’t leave you like this.”

 

Peter goes lax in his grip and nuzzles one of the wrists holding him down, before Chris frees his arms.

 

“A whole week like this, huh?” Chris muses, watching werewolf arch and writhe fluidly on a rollercoaster of pheromones and pleasure. “You know I’m only human.”

 

Peter smiles drunkenly, “You’re a good human.”

 

Chris gives Peter wry smile but doesn’t address the comment, “I mean I can’t get it up again that fast.”

 

Peter pouts, pawing at Chris’ chest. “Please?”

 

Chris regards Peter, unsure of what to do.

 

“Please. I need it.” Peter continues, getting more frantic, twisting under Chris to get onto his belly, trying to present again, pushing up against Chris’ groin and Chris groans at the sight, but even that won’t get him hard again so soon.

 

Still, it’s not like he doesn’t have hands.

 

He sinks two fingers into Peter’s offered hole and watches the man shudder and go limp under him. Peter purrs and hums his pleasure.

 

“Yes, please. Just like that.” Peter murmurs. “Move them, come on.”

 

Chris’ brow furrows. “ _You’re_ not even hard either.”

 

“Heat.” Peter gives as explanation, spreading his legs and getting comfortable under Chris.

 

“I’m not going to be able to do this forever either, you know.” Chris says a bit annoyed. It’s one thing to have a weeklong sex marathon. It’s an entirely other thing to do…whatever it is they’re doing. His hand will cramp eventually.

 

Peter whines and gasps as Chris adds another finger curling them to hit Peter’s sweet spot. “That’s what the dildos in the nightstand are for.” He replies with more nonchalance than Chris could have thought possible given the situation.

 

“Let me get this straight.” Chris says, twisting his fingers lazily inside Peter, “You need _constant_ fucking or else you go out of your head trying to _get_ constant fucking. Is that about right?”

 

“ _Near_ -constant.” Peter replies sounding pleasantly drugged. “I do have to sleep. Always worst on the first day. Mmmm, don’t you dare stop.”

 

“This is ridiculous.” Chris says quietly to himself as the werewolf slumps into a pile of sated flesh.

 

“Ridiculous that I’ve never found a heat mate before.” Peter replies, spilling secrets he isn’t even aware he wants to keep. “Never doing this alone again. So _good_.”

 

Chris shakes his head. “Fine. Come here.” He says, pulling his fingers out. He opens the drawer of the nightstand and pulls out the most normal looking dildo (and good gracious there are a lot of them) and scoots up to lean against the headboard. He pats his lap, expecting an indignant remark or an annoyed expression. Instead Peter practically flows into his lap, lying across it like a large cat.

 

This is ridiculous. Chris thinks again as he carefully pushes the fake cock into Peter’s raised ass, sliding it in and out slowly. Peter is purring, Chris can feel the vibrations in his legs.

 

“A whole _week_?” Chris exclaims out loud to no one.

 

Well, there are worse ways to spend a week, he supposes, glancing down at the sweaty werewolf writhing in his lap.


End file.
